


Concerning Badges

by sharkle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:43:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkle/pseuds/sharkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which James attempts to give up his Captaincy for reasons known only to him... and, well, his Head of House... and most of the school, really. But that doesn't mean he's not right. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerning Badges

James hesitated outside the door, running his thumb over the smooth, slightly raised metal surface clutched in his left hand. He has thought long and hard about his decision, and concluded that it was the right one – if not for Gryffindor, for him ¬– but he still couldn’t quite believe that he was going to follow through on it.

Then, James was a man of his word.

Taking a deep breath, he raised a fist, paused, and knocked on the door.

 _There’s still time to run for it,_ he thought, but too late – a distracted voice called, “Enter.” He sighed as he did so.

Professor McGonagall’s attention was fixed intently on the stack of parchment resting on her desk when James walked in; however, once he had cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “Er, Professor,” she looked up at him.

“Potter,” she said, her surprise registering on her face. “What are you doing here? I would think that you would be in the common room, celebrating the end of the first day of classes with your friends.”

James shook his head. “No, Professor. Actually, I, uh, wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

He shuffled his feet for a moment, fidgeting, before extending his arm, along with his Captain’s badge, to her. “Can you give this to someone else? Adam, maybe? Or Shack?”

Professor McGonagall’s eyebrows covered the distance between their normal position and halfway up her forehead in less than a second. “What in the world would I do that for, Potter?”

Scratching behind his ear, addressing one of the legs of her desk: “I’m… I’m not playing Quidditch this year, Professor.”

She stared at him. He felt his face grow uncomfortably and uncharacteristically warm.

“Have a seat,” she said at last. James realized how foolish he must look with his arm still outstretched, and sat. Professor McGonagall surveyed him over the top of her square spectacles and asked him, in a much kinder voice than he had ever heard her use, “Why don’t you want to play Quidditch? You have more passion for it than any Gryffindor I’ve ever seen – and I’ll be honest with you, Potter, this place isn’t quite the same without that in here.” This as she gestured vaguely to the Quidditch Cup, gleaming in a trophy case in a corner of the room.

James looked longingly after it, recalling with ease the previous season’s final victory, hoisting the silver cup above his head, riding on the shoulders of Gryffindor House all the way back to the common room, the mad party that had ensued, the knowledge that it had all been because of him…

Bloody hell, he was going to miss that.

“Well, I’ve got Head Boy duties,” he said; already his argument sounded feeble, much more so than it had in his mind. “And it’s N.E.W.T. year, and I have to study… for those… and, er, it’s my last year here, and I want to be able to focus… on… enjoying… it…”

He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good.

“I’m sure,” said Professor McGonagall, and in her eyes was the fire that made her Head of Gryffindor, “that Professor Dumbledore believed you could balance both responsibilities adequately when he appointed you Head Boy. It _is_ your N.E.W.T. year, true, but Quidditch practices have never stopped you from being top of the class in nearly everything. As for it being your last year…” Here, the fire died slightly and the look she gave him was softer. “Wouldn’t playing Quidditch make it even easier to enjoy?”

James met her gaze and was struck by the sudden, Dumbledore-like sensation of being X-rayed.

“Potter, really what’s the problem?”

He was blushing. _God damn it._

“Er – well, uh, you – you see, Professor – I mean, the thing is, um – the thing is that I want to – I _need_ to… I need to, erm, well, impress Li– I mean, someone” – as he cursed himself for slipping up – “because, like I said – y’know, just a minute ago – it’s my – our – last year and there isn’t a lot of time left and after this we’re out in the real world, and with the war going on, and her being Mu– I mean, who knows what’s going to happen? Who’s going to be next? It’s all – it’s so – this is my last chance,” he said, “and I… I need to focus on ge– other things.” What came next was almost painful: “More important things.”

Professor McGonagall kept giving him that wise look, and he knew that she had understood exactly what he was trying to say within his first few not-sentences. And she had let him stammer and ramble on anyway. Now he felt embarrassed _and_ stupid. Great.

“James,” – he started at the use of his first name – “I don’t think a girl is worth giving up the thing you love most for. Miss Evans would likely agree. Somehow, I seem to remember seeing her at every Gryffindor Quidditch match, celebrating with the rest of her housemates…”

He stared at her, not bothering to ask how she had known. It wasn’t as though his feelings were a secret.

On the other hand, he was surprised by the actual _smile_ Professor McGonagall granted him a second later. It was small; he thought it seemed a little sad, and maybe even, unbelievably, comprehending.

“There is no doubt in my mind that you can achieve all of your – _goals_ – in addition to remaining Quidditch Captain,” she said. “I’m sorry, Potter.”

But she didn’t look very sorry at all. James didn’t mind. He suddenly felt that his decision, and the discussion that ensued, had been pointless and ridiculous.

“It’s all right, Professor,” he said, standing. “I understand.”

Her eyes followed him until he had left her office.

Outside, he looked down at the badge still in his hand. Then he pinned it back onto the chest of his robes, where it belonged, and set off down the corridor.

Like he could ever give up Quidditch.


End file.
